


i could stare at your back all day

by lovereact



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, Gardens & Gardening, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Marriage, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Post-Game, Pre-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 21:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20433098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovereact/pseuds/lovereact
Summary: There is no word for this feeling. At least, not in the limited vocabulary of lord and vassal Dedue has built up across the years. Concepts like "duty" and "allegiance" pale next to such a pleasant ache.





	i could stare at your back all day

**Author's Note:**

> These two are so in love it's kind of incredible. Here's a pair of separate but related vignettes pre and post getting together. Slight spoilers for the time-skip and ending of the blue lions route. 
> 
> title is from Pink in the Night by Mitski  
(tw for brief descriptions of panic attacks)

Dedue is tying together stalks of sprouting mint when he notices the sound. 

Faint giggles filter through the walls, followed by a muffled exchange he can almost make out. Two students, girls from the high timbre of their voices, have come together and are swapping greetings outside. 

He doesn’t intend to eavesdrop. People often flock to the secluded area behind the greenhouse to chat or trade rumors, and not many besides him know of the amplifying effects of the glass. Against his will, he’s become the holder of many monastery secrets. 

Dedue felt bad enough to leave the first time it happened, but the garden is his sanctuary; he couldn’t stay away for long. He’s learned to tune out the more inane conversations and to file away private affairs that are squarely not his business. The final consolation to any nagging guilt is that he may someday learn something of use to Dimitri. 

One of the girls is especially animated, listing off all the good things that happened to her that day. 

“—and they were serving Two-Fish Sauté in the dining hall so I had a great meal before my exam— which I passed with full marks! Also, a certain someone sat beside me in class.” 

“Him again?”

“You don’t sound very happy for me…”

“I just don’t know what you see in him.”

The girl gives an exaggerated sigh. “Well, his face for one thing.”

“Too roguish. I suppose he’s not my type.”

“I’m not sure you have a type. When was the last time a boy ever caught your eye?” 

“Just yesterday in fact!” 

“And who is this mystery man?” 

“...You’ll laugh.” 

“Of course I will! Out with it.” 

There’s a short pause, like the girl is mustering up courage. 

“Well...Prince Dimitri is quite dreamy isn’t he?” 

Dedue starts so badly he nearly drops an entire bag of seeds into the tilled soil. It isn’t unusual for students to praise his lord, but it’s the first time he’s heard “dreamy” used in this context. 

The girl’s companion groans. 

“I can’t make fun of you for that. His highness is every woman’s fantasy. And many boys’ too for that matter.” 

He has no basis as a vassal to care about frivolous gossip. Another, less noble part of himself rationalizes that this conversation could provide insight. Is it not also his job to assure the good standing of Dimitri in his stead?

“I know! He’s got those big blue eyes you just get lost in, and when he smiles he looks like a knight out of a fairytale.”

Perhaps not. 

Their line of dialogue is puzzling. He’s always taken his lord’s good looks as a given. Anyone with an ounce of sense and working vision would agree Dimitri was a handsome man. It’s odd, almost redundant, to see the quality of his features stated so plainly. 

“He’s polite to both commoners and nobles alike despite his status and you won’t find a man in all of Faerghus more chivalrous. Who wouldn’t fancy him?”

Dedue feels a stab of secondary pride. It pleases him to hear others speak highly of Dimitri— His compassion is unmatched, his patience and resolve legendary; his kindness radiates outwards and makes an impact Dedue is certain everyone he meets can sense. He truly is the perfect example of an upstanding royal and the girl is right to think so. 

If he heard their praise Dimitri would no doubt deny it. Most likely while sporting that peculiar shade of red Dedue can’t help but catalogue as another shining example of his lord’s humility. 

“I know I haven’t got a chance with him but,” A fluttery sigh. "did you see during training the other day? How he ripped the arm of his jacket—”

“—and threw it off mid strike? By the goddess, I think half the monastery must have memorized the sight. That physique is carved from marble.”

“I just about died when he accidentally snapped his weapon in two!” 

“What I wouldn’t give to be that lance!” 

Dedue stands. This is no longer a conversation he’s comfortable being audience to. He can busy himself running errands or doing anything else far, far away from here. 

His flight is stalled by the large metal doors of the greenhouse clanging open. 

The girls exclaim and he’s relieved to hear their swift footfalls as they run off— until he sees what prompted their departure. 

Dimitri lingers on the threshold, peering in like he’s waiting for permission to enter. When he spots Dedue he visibly brightens. 

“You’re here! Thank goodness. I was worried I’d gotten the date wrong.” Dimitri tilts his head. “Are you busy?”

Dedue finds himself rooted to the spot, disoriented by the stark contrast between Dimitri in person and the whimsical descriptions from earlier. Instead of his usual attire, he's wearing an all black uniform absent of armor and dressings. Without the added bulk of a cape and pauldrons, Dimitri appears surprisingly lithe. 

_Dreamy._

Dedue tamps down rising embarrassment. 

“I am unoccupied. Are you in need of something?” 

“Not exactly.” Dimitri shifts back and forth. “I would like to help you garden— if you don’t mind.” 

Dedue blinks. “I would never mind your company.” 

“Ah.” The following pause stretches on so long that Dedue begins to wonder if he misspoke but Dimitri finally clears his throat and steps forward to study the rows of greenery. “Very well. Where should I begin?”

“I would not want you to dirty your uniform.”

“Nonsense. Just consider this a seminar of sorts. I’m aspiring to become a master in the class of horticulture.” He picks up an unpotted bulb and turns it over, curious. “Are these edible?” 

There’s no use trying to argue with Dimitri once he has his mind set on something. Dedue carefully takes the bulb back. 

“If you insist, I hope to be a suitable teacher.” 

“I am in your care,” Dimitri says and Dedue is flustered all over again. 

The foremost way to learn is always by example. He leads Dimitri to the section of the greenhouse reserved for flowers and stoops over the planter boxes with a shovel. 

The gardeners have managed to cultivate an astounding number of forget-me-nots. Enough where their creeping growth has begun to smother other species of plants. The simple solution of cutting the stems is ineffective. Worse, people collecting the petals as gifts makes it difficult to determine the scope of the issue. 

He explains this to Dimitri who nods in understanding. 

“I plan to pull out the root systems.”

“I can see why they’re popular to harvest. They’re a lovely color.” 

“Yes, they are.” 

Dedue angles his body sideways to give Dimitri a good view while he uproots, breaking down the steps in a way he hopes is easy to comprehend. It isn’t often he gets the chance to instruct others in his areas of expertise and he fears he’s woefully ill-equipped. That it’s Dimitri under his tutelage adds an extra layer of tension to his motions. 

“This reminds me, I always thought our eyes rather extraordinary.”

“Your highness?” 

Dimitri hovers over the discarded flowers looking a bit sheepish. 

“Mine and yours, I mean. We come from lands divided by history and conflict, and such emphasis is placed on our differences…” He rubs a forget-me-not petal with his thumb. “Despite this, our eyes are both blue, and no one can deny that. Funny, isn’t it?” He turns his gaze to meet Dedue’s and smiles goodnaturedly. “Although to be frank, I much prefer your color.” 

Dedue marvels at his lord’s ability to say precisely what will stun him at any given moment. He busies himself tugging more stems and ignores the thrumming in his chest. 

“That is an astute observation.”

“Is that what it is?” Dimitri’s voice goes flat and even with his fumbling social graces, Dedue recognizes disappointment when he hears it. A simple thank you seems inappropriate for the part-compliment, part-moral quandary his highness has dropped in his lap. Really, what is he supposed to say? Words don’t come easy to him. 

Nevertheless, he must always strive to convey the depths of his gratitude. 

Dedue hesitates, setting down his shovel and pretending he can’t feel Dimitri’s pointed stare. 

“I find myself in agreement. It does not concern me, that is, those who choose to single out and comment on what differs between us,” Their prejudices are their own and the acceptance he receives from his savior holds ten times the weight of any remark they could make. “I am content to share something in common with you, your highness. However, I have to dispute one point,” He bows his head. “In my opinion, it is you who possess the more captivating shade. Many would agree—” 

A sharp intake of breath above him startles Dedue to glance up. He catches a glimpse of Dimitri’s mouth twisted absurdly at the corners and the beginnings of a blush before Dimitri slaps a hand across his own face and turns away. 

“Excuse me, I— Please, give me a moment.” 

“Are you well?” Dedue moves to support Dimitri’s shoulders, but the second he makes contact Dimitri jolts and takes a hard step back—slamming right into a half filled container of soil. Its contents spills over their shoes, the pot rolling past them and coating the greenhouse floor. 

There’s silence as they both register the mess and Dedue’s spirits drop looking over their muddy boots. He’s prepared to apologize, to assure Dimitri this isn’t his fault and that he’d be better off doing something worthwhile with his time. 

He’s prepared to say all of this when Dimitri begins to laugh. 

It starts as a few breaths of amusement which soon morph into a low chuckle, rising in intensity until Dimitri is doubled over. He laughs hard enough to bring tears to his eyes and all Dedue can do is stand and watch in awe, suddenly feeling very lucky. 

“My, wasn’t that skillful! Forgive me, Dedue. I came here to help but I’ve only managed to create more work for you.” He catches his breath and rolls up his sleeves. “At least now you won’t have to worry about getting my uniform dirty.” 

“It is no trouble. I will clean this up.” 

Dimitri shoots him a look. 

“And I’ll assist you. I’d like to continue those gardening lessons today, if possible.” 

Meaning he won’t be taking no for an answer. True to his word, Dimitri strides past him, rights the tipped pot and begins scooping in handfuls of earth. Dedue goes to fetch a broom, at this point resigning himself to his highness’s unpredictable temperament.

The two of them are able to quickly clear the dirt and not half an hour later are back kneeling beside a bed of red tulips. 

Dedue instructs Dimitri in pruning, demonstrating the proper way to bend a plant’s stem in order to snip off any wilting or diseased portions. When he explains the purpose of the act, to encourage new and healthy growth, Dimitri doesn’t hide his surprise. 

“So they can grow new limbs from this practice?”

“Something like that.”

“How resilient…” When he brings his attention back to the blossoms Dedue can tell he has a newfound perspective. The thought warms him. 

Dimitri insists on trying for himself, but can’t seem to wrap his head around the positioning of both the plant and the clippers. Dedue notes his struggle and is struck by a sudden impulse. He murmurs a soft “pardon me” and leans in, resting his hands over Dimitri’s and guiding his grip until they both move as one. 

Dimitri’s long fingers are frozen under his. Dedue supposes he must be focused intently on the plant. 

“Pinch the stem loosely and lead with the blade shut. It prevents mistaken cuts. Like this.” Dedue mimes the technique through Dimitri. 

“Right.” 

“Now you.” He relaxes his hold so Dimitri can take control but the seconds tick by and Dimitri shows no intention of moving. Their joined hands remain still. “My lord?” 

“Ah! I’m sorry— Pruning, yes. We were pruning. I’ll just,” He proceeds to clip the entire head of a tulip with an audible snip. “Oh, drat.” 

The bloom tumbles sadly into the dirt. 

“...It will grow back.” 

Dimitri drops the shears, breaking contact. “I can’t do any of this right,” He glares down at the cut stem. “I should stick to swords and lances afterall.” 

He cannot claim to understand all of his highness’s moods, but Dedue knows pouting when he sees it. It’s rare for Dimitri to reveal his less-than-princely traits. He can’t help but feel special to be one of the few to witness this side of him. 

“If I may,” He once more takes Dimitri’s hand against weak protests, placing the recovered blossom into his palm. “I meant what I said. One wrong trim will not fell the entire plant. It is their nature to recover from even the deepest of wounds.” 

Dimitri is struggling to continue his sulk. “I’m inconveniencing you.” 

Dedue shakes his head. “Not at all. It has taken long hours of practice to hone my skills in the garden. Everyone starts somewhere.” He gestures to a section of untilled soil. “Why not move onto something requiring less precision. I am at least confident in your ability to dig holes.” He hopes Dimitri will catch the intended humor in his words and is thankful when they draw an inelegant snort. 

“I believe I can manage that. How do you always know exactly what to say?” 

“I assure you that could not be further from the truth.”

Ever the quick study, it takes Dimitri just a couple tries to establish a technique for seeding. Dedue watches him work, almost subconsciously scanning for any injuries like he does during perfunctory checks after battle. It’s a calming ritual for him now; to observe his highness whole and unharmed loosens the tight knot of worry that builds in his chest every minute Dedue spends away from him. 

They fall into an easy rhythm, neither speaking but an air of companionable silence between them. Dedue becomes absorbed in repetitive motions, soothed by the familiar presence beside him. It is Dimitri’s voice which eventually breaks him out of his reverie. 

“Dedue, look this way.” 

He turns, ready to offer aide but Dimitri’s face is there, less than a foot away from his. Dedue’s throat catches. Up close he can’t deny the natural allure of his highness— the pale blue of his eyes under blond lashes and dark pupils threatening to swallow any color whole. Dimitri’s brow furrows in concentration and Dedue wants, somehow, to smooth that line away. 

Their proximity is hardly appropriate. He should...he ought to create distance. Yet, he can barely fathom doing so. 

Wrapped up in this dilemma, he doesn’t notice the flower until it’s already tucked safely behind his ear. Dimitri pulls back without delay, brushing lightly against Dedue’s shoulder in the process.

“As I thought,” A pleased grin slowly warms his cheeks. “the red compliments your skin, Dedue. It’s certainly stunning.” 

Dedue reaches up to touch the tulip petals brushing against his temple. 

“I...thank you. It is not of much significance.” 

“I knew you would say that.” Dimitri sighs and continues his work, unaware that he’s tilted Dedue’s world on its axis. 

There is no word for this feeling. At least, not in the limited vocabulary of lord and vassal Dedue has built up across the years. Concepts like “duty” and “allegiance” pale next to such a pleasant ache. 

He wants that without a name. He’ll have to settle for pressing the flower later. 

The ringing of the monastery bells signals the end of the day and the closing of their time together. Dimitri gets up and wipes sweat from his brow.

“Rather humid in here is it not? What do you say we go freshen up for dinner.” He offers a hand which Dedue gratefully accepts. 

“I am ready when you are.” 

“Oh, You have...” Dimitri stops and stares hard enough to unsettle, but eventually he nods. “Let us be off.” 

Dedue only remembers the tulip afterwards, when Annette squeals in delight upon discovering it still nestled in his hair. 

—

It is far past midnight and Dedue is holed up in his personal study, sorting through a seemingly endless stack of legal documents. 

No matter how many accounts he reads and signs off on, there is always another issue to resolve. Never anything important enough to warrant extensive thought, just page after page of bureaucratic roadblocks he must wade through until the letters swim off the lines. He doesn’t dislike his job. Assisting his majesty with various kingly duties is of premiere importance in his life and there are many aspects of it he enjoys. 

He does not, however, have any attachment to the paperwork. 

Exhaustion creeps through his limbs, but he pushes it away. At the rate he’s going he’ll be lucky to finish by sunrise. 

He catches himself glancing to his non-dominant hand. The light from the sconces continues to bounce off the ring on his finger and flash in the corner of his vision. He sets down his pen and thinks of Dimitri. 

A private ceremony was held at Dimitri’s behest, their audience almost entirely made up of the former blue lions. Neither he nor Dimitri had any next of kin left to attend, but their friends readily filled those roles as well— Mercedes asserting her status as the oldest, standing in for Dedue’s mother, and Annette dropping unsubtle hints for months until he finally entreated her to be his Maid of Honor. He fondly recalls the squabbling over best man. Sylvain insisted it be Felix, Felix insisted he’d sooner skewer himself on his sword, and Ashe insisted they take a vote. In the end, they all agreed Ingrid was the best choice. 

Byleth officiated the occasion, their usually impassive face hinting at immeasurable amounts of pride.

His duties as right hand to the king were not put on pause in the days leading up to their wedding, so the reality of the situation didn’t hit him until he was already halfway down the aisle. Dimitri was the picture of royalty in traditional marriage garb, his hair braided up from his face and expression impossibly tender. When he took Dedue’s hands in his, they were shaking. 

To say Dedue was overwhelmed would have been putting it lightly. 

Dimitri fought back tears through his vows, and was openly weeping by the time they were told to exchange rings. Somehow, his lord’s unrestrained display of emotion soothed Dedue’s anxieties, and he felt an utter sense of peace wash over him leaning in to seal the ceremony. Dimitri’s cheeks were hot, his lashes wet and their kiss tasted of salt. 

Those sensations will forever remain among his most cherished memories. 

Their union wasn’t publicized. While a king wedding his vassal is not unheard of, it is another thing altogether for Dimitri to bring someone of Duscur blood into the royal pantheon. Through the tireless efforts of her majesty, the Kingdom of Faerghus now stands in solidarity with Dedue’s people— but the scars decades of prejudice bring don’t disappear overnight. It will be awhile before the shadow of The Tragedy of Duscur fades in the collective conscience. 

Until then, Dedue is happy to keep their relationship sheltered by the castle walls. His role as assigned royal protector has its upsides. Dimitri’s quarters are cut off from the main building and guards and servants are forbidden from entering the premises without permission; there is no need when Dedue can cook and clean for Dimitri himself. 

It’s a convenient arrangement. Nobody questions the necessity of a king’s personal guard living with his charge. That Dedue sleeps in the same bed as Dimitri; that he wears a gold band matching with his; that his lap is the preferred seating of his majesty while he pours over reports— None of that is of consequence to anyone but the involved parties. 

He’s dragged from his musings by the creak of the study door. 

“Dedue?” 

Dimitri looks into the room, hair mussed and lids heavy like he was just wrenched from a deep slumber. 

Dedue rises from his seat, alarmed. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.” The dark rings under his eyes suggest otherwise but Dedue doesn’t comment on them. Dimitri nudges the door further open and Dedue can see he’s barefoot in his night clothes, a large fur cloak draped over his shoulders. “Are you coming to bed?”

“Yes, soon. Why are you awake?” He beckons for Dimitri to come closer, which he does, shuffling across the carpet and immediately surrendering himself to Dedue’s fussing. 

“I had a nightmare,” He states. “You weren’t there, so I got up to find you.”

Dedue’s chest tightens. “Which one was it?”

“I—I don’t remember,” Dimitri rubs his eyes. “Look at me, coming to you like a child to his mother. I’m sorry for disturbing you.” 

“Not at all, I was just finishing up,” He drops a kiss to Dimitri’s forehead. “It will only be a few minutes. You are welcome to stay here, then we can go together.” 

Dimitri regards him. 

“Alright.”

“Please excuse the mess. I have been meaning to clean.” 

Dimitri drifts around the study, idly picking up and setting down various books and trinkets. Some are salvaged remnants of their academy days, all that was left after an unknown number of lootings. Dimitri stays fixed on these the longest, his tired face shrouded with indecipherable emotion. 

Once Dedue is certain Dimitri is sufficiently occupied, he goes back to organizing work for the morning. 

He’s close to being finished when an inquisitive “oh?” draws his attention. 

Dimitri stands in front of one of the shelves adjacent his desk, holding a picture frame up to the light. Dedue recognizes its contents in an instant: A single pressed, red tulip, remarkably preserved for its age. 

“How nostalgic. I could be wrong but…is this the one I gave you? That day in the greenhouse?”

“Yes.”

“You kept it all these years?” 

“Ah, yes. It was...” 

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

“Come, Dedue. I thought we were past keeping things from one another.”

As much as it pains him to admit, Dimitri is right. 

“It was a gift from you. Nothing else was so precious.” 

Dimitri absorbs this information with a blank face; then all at once, he sets down the frame and steps forward to support his hands on Dedue’s shoulders—swaying up to the tips of his toes so he can press their mouths together. 

Through his surprise, Dedue obediently shuts his eyes, reveling in the warmth of Dimitri’s body and the way their noses bump as they balance together. Dimitri melts into him, lips pliant and sweet as he deepens the kiss with a sigh. 

When they part, panting and flushed, Dimitri lets out a breathless laugh.

“I’m terribly glad I can do that now.” 

“You always had permission.” 

“And you were always infuriatingly hard to read.”

Dimitri’s touch drifts along the furrow of his brow, thumbing over an age old scar on his temple and tracing the line of his jaw. He feels calloused fingertips follow, pressing gently into the pale sliver of skin at his cheek until he pauses to cup Dedue’s face. His palm is cool against the hot blush Dedue knows is blazing under his skin. Even after experiencing so much together, Dimitri’s undivided affection continues to leave him shy.

That’s when he realizes Dimitri is shivering, small tremors lancing through his arms. 

“What is the matter?” 

Dimitri ducks his head and Dedue’s concern rises. A million worst case scenarios flash through his thoughts but he fights down the urge to speak them into existence. 

“I lied before, about my nightmare. I remember it all,” Dimitri swallows hard. “Quite vividly.” 

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

“You’re not going to admonish me for keeping this from you?” He parrots his words from earlier, a self deprecating lilt to his tone. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I’m beginning to tire of my own hypocritical character.”

Dedue frowns. Of all his destructive habits, Dimitri’s tendency to bad-mouth himself is the most troubling. As if reading his mind, Dimitri’s dark scowl softens. “Forgive me, that wasn’t necessary,” He caresses the side of Dedue’s scalp. “I only worry that I’m often unfair to you. You don’t deserve to be left carrying the burden of my incessant moping.” 

Moping is an erroneous understatement for Dimitri’s state of mind. 

He lifts his own hand to cradle Dimitri’s and tilts his head to place a chaste kiss against their gathered fingers. 

“I would shoulder that weight and countless others into the next life if I could.” 

The admission is meant to comfort, he would hate for his majesty to feel guilt over what is simply Dedue’s responsibility as a follower and friend, but Dimitri’s expression crumbles. 

Tears spill over, dripping down into the fur of his cloak while a sob rises unbidden from his throat. He’s crying— and the sound strikes such an icy blade of fear through Dedue’s heart he instinctively reaches out, pulling Dimitri flush into a crushing embrace and knocking his cloak to the ground. He’s startled by his own compulsion but can’t bring himself to loosen his grip, nor can he resist smoothing back the long, blond strands that catch on Dimitri’s wet cheeks. 

Dimitri tries to turn away, but instead has to take a ragged gulp of air as spasms wrack his body. Dedue holds him, pulse thundering loud enough in his ears to drown out all other noise. 

After several agonizing moments, Dimitri moans, pushing against Dedue’s chest to force distance between them. 

“You fool, don’t you understand?”

“I did not intend to upset—”

“Stop! Do _not_ apologize.” 

Dedue holds his tongue, knowing better than to further exacerbate Dimitri’s frenzied state into a full blown episode. He has enough experience bringing his majesty down from the attacks that used to afflict him almost daily. It had been some time since the last one, a terrifying bout of panic that left Dimitri gasping on the throne room floor, his hands tight around his throat. 

They have made progress since then, and continue to do so. He can tell Dimitri is working himself down, breathing measured in and out until the act is less laboured. Dedue could not be prouder of him in that moment. 

Dimitri swipes at his eyes with his wrist. 

“In my nightmare, I was imprisoned within the dungeons of Fhirdiad. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you what took place there,” Never would Dedue forget his highness beaten and bruised, miserably chained to a cell block wall. The picture lit a fury the likes of which he’s never desired to feel again— though, his adrenalin filled rage kept him moving long enough to complete Dimitri’s escape. “Back then, I was convinced you perished saving me. I was sure of it for five, regrettable years. When we reunited, and I learned that you had been saved by your brothers in arms...I could scarcely believe it,” His lips purse a thin line. “I still scarcely believe it.”

“What happened?” 

“I dreamt you died,” His voice is small but the confession rings like the strike of a hammer on steel. “You were slaughtered in front of me, and this time there were no honorable men of Duscur to come to your aide. You joined the chorus in my mind calling for bloody vengeance. And I,” He shudders. “I missed you. I missed you so much.” 

Dedue understands all too well. 

“May I touch you?” He whispers, every part of him yearning to reach out. 

Dimitri nods. 

As a teenager, he felt self-conscious of his towering stature. Now, he thanks the gods for gifting him that extra bit of height. It means he has no problem engulfing Dimitri completely in his arms, satisfying the ever present desire to keep him sheltered and safe. 

Dimitri clutches at his back, buries his nose into the crook of Dedue’s neck and takes a deep breath.

Dedue speaks softly into his ear, “I believe we might be operating under a misconception.” 

“And what would that be?”

“I am wholly alive. Here. With you,” He kneads at Dimitri’s nape, hoping to provide physical proof of his existence. “Truthfully, I have had nightmares similar to yours. Ones where I cannot protect you. Where you die in my arms or are so overcome with madness you take your own life, I do not—” He stops, choked by the phantom guilt of events never passed. 

Dimitri makes a gentle sound and squeezes Dedue closer. “You don’t have to. I know.” 

“Those visions haunt me. But they have taught me a much needed lesson. Seeing your sleeping face in the moments before I shut my eyes, with the knowledge that I may also have you there when I wake— That is a privilege. It would be a grievous mistake to cast aside something so treasured with my death. 

He could spend every second with Dimitri. He wishes it so, in every covetous corner of his soul he’s failed to fill lies a longing for infinite mornings, days and nights together. More time than he deserves to take. And while undeniably selfish of him, in his heart of hearts he can picture eternal rest no place but at Dimitri’s side. 

“I cannot help but live for you, it is as inherent to me as any other facet of my being. As important as my love for gardening or cooking. I beg you to accept this truth. As far as wanting me to cherish my own life...” He pulls back just enough to lock their gazes. “I am trying. It took courage to accept a life standing beside you as your equal. I will do everything in my power to protect that, and you, Dimitri.” 

Dimitri, up to this point listening with wide eyes, lets his mouth drop open in surprise. His expression is almost comical and Dedue suddenly realizes how very much he wants to kiss him. So he does, tilting his head forward to seek approval without words. 

When they separate, Dimitri huffs, exasperated and affectionate.

“I didn’t realize you were such a talented wordsmith, Dedue.” 

He blushes. “Only for you.”

Dimitri’s smile is like something out of a fairytale. 

“Yes. Only for me. Say my name again?”

“Dimitri.”

“Again.”

“...Dimitri.” 

“Once more,” Dedue kisses him instead.“—mmn, no fair. My _husband _has a duty to say my name whenever I wish him to.”

“I think you are mistaking the roles of vassal and spouse.” 

“You may be right. It’s quite good luck you happen to be both.” The sentence morphs into a yawn.

“We should go to bed.”

“We should,” Dimitri agrees but rests his head on Dedue’s shoulder. “I should get a haircut.” 

There are many things left to say: affirmations and pleas and an untold number of saccharine promises. But the night is dwindling—as are Dedue’s energy reserves— and he finds he’d much rather continue to watch the candle light dance off Dimitri’s profile. 

He tucks Dimitri’s long fringe behind his ear. 

“I am fond of this length.”

Dimitri urges him down for one more lingering kiss and murmurs against his lips, “It will grow back.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. writing this somehow coincided perfectly with dimidue week so! yay! hmu @galacticryptid on twitter or sodapill on tumblr and watch me obsess over fe3h for the foreseeable future.


End file.
